Shadowfall
by Duncan Johnson
Summary: A ghost story set in the year 1900 and featuring the eighth Doctor.
1. Episode One

_Disclaimer: Doctor Who, the TARDIS and related characters are the property of the BBC and are used without permission. This is a non-profit making work of fan-fiction._

Shadowfall

By Duncan Johnson

Episode One

_'But the privilege and pleasure_

_That we treasure beyond measure_

_Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State'_

The Gondoliers, Gilbert and Sullivan

**From the letters of Inspector Thomas Lovegrove to his sister**

Whitby

20th November 1900

Dearest June,

I trust you are well and that little Simon is behaving himself. Do write and tell me how his studies are progressing.

I have just retired for the evening in this wretched town. I am lodged above the public house, which is just down the road from the police station, and I have to say the food is terrible. How I miss your home cooking.

As you may recall from my last letter, I have little regard for this assignment that calls me from my more comfortable rooms in London. The death of Sir Rupert Percival seems to me to be unambiguous, but the Percivals, I regret to say, wield some influence with the chief constable and thus I find myself dispatched to investigate a case with no mystery at all.

Yes, June, I know what you will say. It is no one's fault but my own for speaking my mind during that despicable affair six months ago. However, you know very well that I have never been one to keep quiet when I see an injustice being perpetrated.

Despite my misgivings, though, the day has not been completely wasted. Let me tell you about the Doctor.

* * *

He was at the station when my train pulled in – a good half-hour late, I might add – and I cannot shake the feeling that he was waiting for me. I confess, I found myself drawn to him despite myself. He was carelessly sprawled across a bench and reading a newspaper. His long brown hair blew wildly in the breeze. He was dressed in the attire of a gentleman, with a bottle-green velvet coat, waistcoat and silk cravat, but it all seemed to have been thrown on haphazardly and without proper care and attention. The impression he gave was of a man, formerly of property, but now down on his luck. A gambler, I suspected.

'Sometimes,' he announced suddenly. With hindsight I can see that he must have been commenting on an article in his newspaper, but at the time I truly believed that he had read my mind.

He grinned at me, a toothy smile that lit up his face and filled me with warmth despite the chill. He had a penetrating gaze that focussed on me alone. It was as if everyone around us has ceased to exist. He tucked his folded newspaper under one arm and extended his hand towards me.

'Good afternoon, Inspector,' he said in a gently lilting accent.

I let him take my hand and he pumped it vigorously.

'How did you know I was' I began.

'An inspector?' he responded. 'Lucky guess. You were either a policeman or a journalist. No one else would feel they had the right to be so brazenly nosy. Well, almost no one else.'

He seemed to be studying me, watching for my reaction. I reassessed my opinion of him. If he was the victim of hard times it was through no fault of his own. The man's mind was sharp as the late autumn wind that howled around us. Nonetheless, his arrogance was beginning to grate.

'And who might you be, sir?' I asked.

'Oh, no one of importance,' he flashed an infuriatingly enigmatic smile. 'Just a traveller. An enquirer into the world's mysteries much like yourself. As for my namewell I've been known by several, but I think my favourite is the Doctor. I take it that you will be staying in town?'

'Not that it's any of your business, Doctor, but yes I will,' I replied.

'Excellent.' The odd man clapped his hands together with glee. 'Then may I suggest we share a carriage. Unless of course you would prefer to walk?'

As you know, I usually prefer to travel alone, but, despite the man's abrasiveness, I found him fascinating and resolved to learn as much about him as I could.

'So, what brings you to Whitby, Doctor?' I asked once the carriage was in motion.

Evening was drawing in and the interior of the carriage was dark, but the Doctor's eyes seemed to sparkle with a light of their own as he turned to me. 'Curiosity,' he said. 'And I have some time on my hands. Quite ironic that, really.'

'Yes, quite,' I said, not really understanding the remark.

'I'm supposed to be attending a friend's funeral,' the Doctor continued, 'but I've managed to get the dates wrong.'

'You missed it,' I deduced. 'My condolences.'

'Oh no, not at all,' the Doctor said, waving his arms as if to ward off my suggestion. 'Quite the opposite in fact. I arrived too early. Most embarrassing.'

We continued in silence for a few minutes and I turned to watch the countryside rolling by.

'You are here to investigate the death of Sir Rupert Percival, aren't you, Inspector?' The Doctor's voice made me jump out of my skin and it took a moment for his words to sink in.

'And just how do you deduce that?' I replied defensively.

'Oh, come now, Inspector,' the Doctor said. 'There can't be that many mysteries in a place like Whitby, certainly few that would merit the attention of an Inspector from the City of London.'

'I might just be here for a holiday,' I responded, though the excuse was not convincing even to my ears.

The Doctor obviously sensed this and smiled again. 'No, I don't think so,' he said. 'So, fell, jumped or pushed?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'It's really quite simple, Inspector,' the Doctor said impatiently. 'Was Sir Rupert's death accident, suicide or murder?'

'Murder?' I laughed. 'Really, Doctor. Surely you don't think'

'Yes?' the Doctor prompted.

'Well, I don't see the need to attach any sinister motive to the man's demise,' I said. 'There are far simpler explanations.'

'And the simplest solution is always the correct one.' The Doctor grinned and I got the distinct impression that he was mocking me. 'My dear Inspector, what a charmingly insular world you live in.'

I was about to fire off a retort when the Doctor changed the subject again.

'So you think it was suicide then?'

'It's possible,' I confessed. 'Who knows what occupies a man's mind, but by all accounts Sir Rupert had a happy and untroubled home life. He did not gamble, did not drink to excess or cheat on his wife. A model citizen in all respects.'

'And yet you do not like the man,' the Doctor commented.

I turned away from the Doctor to look out of the carriage window again. 'It's not the man I object to,' I explained, 'but what he stands for. The upper classes. Why should men, through sheer accident of birth, be any better than other men? I tell you, Doctor, sometime soon, the working-man is going to rise up and topple the aristocracy, you mark my words.' It could not come too soon for me. You would think that an organisation such as the police force would judge a man on his merits, but I have already been passed over for promotion three times by men whose only superior aspect was their social status. 

It suddenly occurred to me that, as a gentleman himself, the Doctor might be offended by my remarks so I hastily added, 'Present company excepted, of course.'

If the Doctor was insulted he did not show it. 'Dictatorship of the proletariat,' he mused. 'I am afraid you are about two decades too early, my friend.'

'So, poor Sir Rupert stumbled off the cliffs in the dark,' the Doctor continued, breaking out of his reverie.

'That is my belief,' I agreed. 'Man probably had too much to drink and lost his footing while out for an evening's stroll.'

'But if that is what happened then why are you here?' the Doctor asked, jabbing the air with a slender finger. The Doctor had what you would describe as pianist's hands. 'Let me guess, you superiors are not satisfied.'

'Actually, it's the widow who is not satisfied, Doctor,' I explained. 'My superiors only sent me to placate her.'

'My sympathies,' the Doctor offered.

The carriage had stopped outside the pub and the Doctor helped me get my luggage down. He had no bags of his own.

'Still, since we are here we might as well investigate,' the Doctor said. 'After all, you never know' He looked up at the building. 'You will be staying here, I take it.'

I nodded.

'Good, good. I'll meet you here at eight o'clock and we can commence our enquiries.' He spun on his heel and started striding down the street. 'Eight o'clock sharp,' he called back. 'Don't be late, Inspector Lovegrove.'

It was only when I got to my room that I realised that I had never told him my name.

* * *

**From the journal of Mrs Mina Harker **

20th November

I often wish I could look on Whitby without the site being tainted by sadness. I remember thinking what a lovely place this was once with its pretty red-roofed houses and the beautiful ruins of the abbey watching over them from above. It is, in truth, still a lovely place, but I can only appreciate it in the abstract for it no longer stirs my heart with joy and wonder and romance. Now all this place means to me is loss and horror and sadness. It is regrettable how memories can taint our lives.

But if it were not for memories I should not be here, for I have come here to remember a good friend who passed away all too young, just as I come here whenever I can, not to remember the tragedy that took her from me, rather to recall the joy we shared in life.

I find myself wondering if the Doctor is haunted by memories. He seems so young until one looks into his eyes and then it is easy to believe that he might be older than time itself. What might he have seen, what losses must he have felt? When I first saw him it was, I confess, with the impression that he was shouldering a heavy burden.

I am getting ahead of myself. I had travelled to Whitby to lay flowers at Lucy's grave and to lay to rest some of my own demons. Demons. Here in Whitby it is difficult to avoid the connotations of that word. Ten years have not been long enough to wipe away the stain left by those dark days. Perhaps no amount of time will be. These were the thoughts that filled my head as I sat in the graveyard with my journal open in front of me, unable to think of the words to write. Instead I stared out to sea and listened to the waves crashing rhythmically down below. The headland descends so steeply over the harbour that the bank has fallen away, sending some of the graves tumbling into the bay. The headstones at the edge jut out at obscene angles over the abyss and I keep expecting them to heave themselves up and throw themselves into oblivion. 

That, it would seem is what Sir Rupert Percival did. I got the whole sorry tale from the landlady at my lodgings in town as I unpacked my things.

'A right proper gentleman he was,' Mrs Hibbard had said as I transferred clothes from my case to my wardrobe. I planned to stay in Whitby for several days to take a break from city life – and from the terrors I am forced to instruct at school.

'Used to come down into the town regular like,' the landlady continued, 'not like some of them folks what live in the big house. Always willing to stop and chat, he was. Liked to pass the time of day, you understand.'

I muttered an acknowledgement as I strained to lift my now empty case up on top of the wardrobe and off of the bed. 

Mrs Hibbard saw my struggle and said, 'Now don't you be doing that, my dear. I'll get Joshua to lift it for you. Joshua!'

However, I had already lifted the case so that it balanced on the wardrobe's corner and it seemed foolish to take it down just so someone else could be seen to be doing the work for me.

'It is quite all right,' I said when Joshua came running up the stairs, 'I've managed to do it myself now, but thank you both very much for your trouble.'

'Weren't nothing, ma'am,' Joshua said. He was grinning so widely that I feared his head might split in two. Mrs Hibbard shooed him off, then continued her story.

'Well now, as I was saying, Sir Rupert always had time for a chat, but just lately he changed. Rarely came down to the town he did and when he did come he scarcely had two words to say to no one and neither of them kind words neither. Word was he spent most of his time wondering up by the abbey. Creepy place, if you ask me. Never liked it.'

I have always found the ruined abbey to be somewhat romantic, but I thought it best not to mention this to Mrs Hibbard.

'Took to heavy drinking he did, too,' Mrs Hibbard continued, 'where before he barely touched a drop. Then just a week ago he disappeared. They found his body a couple of days later washed up on the beach. They say he got drunk and fell off the cliff path in the dark, but there's something right queer about the whole business. Right queer indeed.'

Now I sat in the graveyard of the parish church, which lay between the town on one side and the abbey on the other. In the gathering dark, I had to agree with Mrs Hibbard's assessment that the abbey was indeed "creepy". I closed my journal, the page still blank. It was past time I returned to my lodgings. There were still people wandering through the graveyard, singly or in pairs, whispering to each other as if raised voices would somehow damage the sanctity of this place. I glanced at them to see if I recognised anyone from my last visit, but they were all strangers. Times change and if you are unprepared they can leave you stranded and alone.

I turned back towards the town and that was when I saw him. Tall and rail-thin, his long hair blowing wildly, he stood at the edge of the graveyard where the bank had fallen away. With his arms outstretched and his head tilted up towards the sky I thought for a fleeting moment that he was going to jump.

There was enough tragedy around me and I found myself running towards him, determined to prevent him from adding to it. It had rained in the morning; I remember the water on the windows of my compartment on the train obscuring my view of the beautiful countryside. The grass was still wet. I slipped. My hands were gathered in my skirts, hoisting them up so that I might run more freely and I was unable to free them to stop myself. I slid and stumbled past the man I had come to rescue and tumbled over the edge.

I felt strong arms around me, gathering me up and hauling me to safety. One of my shoes had come loose and I turned my head to see it plummeting downwards. It was then that I realised how close I had come to serious injury and I collapsed into the stranger's arms, all the strength drained from my body. The stranger picked me up and carried me to the nearest seat, where he set me down. He crouched down beside me and my first concern as my strength returned was that he would get mud on his clothes.

The stranger, however, was more concerned with my welfare than his attire.

'Are you all right?' he asked. He looked up at me so earnestly that he reminded me of a puppy pleading for attention.

'Yes, yes thank you,' I managed. 'I'm just a little shaken.'

'Of course you are,' he said abruptly, slapping his forehead with the heel of his palm. Then he started to root through the pockets of his frock coat. 'Now where did I put it.'

He began to form a pile of objects in the grass in front of him and my eyes must have widened in astonishment. Surely it was impossible to fit all of that into a gentleman's pockets, but that was undoubtedly were the objects had appeared from.

'Aha!' he declared, producing a hip flask. He handed this to me. 'Brandy,' he explained, returning his pile of items to his pockets. 'For medicinal purposes.'

I looked at the flask curiously. The initials G.B.S. were engraved on one side. The stranger smacked his lips. 'Drink up,' he said.

Cautiously, I risked a sip. I choked on it, but the alcohol was filling me with new warmth.

'Feeling better?' he asked. His voice was soft and somewhat shy.

'Much. Thank you.' The stranger beamed. I took another sip from the flask – it went down more easily this time – and looked regretfully at my stockinged foot, thinking of the walk home. 'It is a pity about my shoe though.'

'Hmm.' The stranger pursed his lips. 'Wait here.'

He dashed off in the direction of the drop, coat tails flapping behind him, and, as he neared the edge, I thought for one heart-stopping moment that he would succumb to the same disaster that had so recently threatened me. He managed to keep his footing, however, and scrambled down the path to the beach. Minutes later he returned, clutching my shoe triumphantly. He was not even out of breath.

'It's a bit damp, I'm afraid,' he said as he handed it to me. He seemed to take the condition of my footwear personally.

'It's only a shoe,' I reassured him, slipping it back onto my foot.

'Yes, yes, yes,' he said animatedly, 'but it's the little things that make life special. A comfortable pair of shoes. Birdsong in the morning. The first light of stars as they come out in the evening. Lovely view, isn't it.'

'So that's what you were doing!' I exclaimed.

'I'm sorry?' the stranger said.

'You were stargazing. I thought you were going to jump and I was trying to save you, but you ended up saving me.'

'Then I thank you for putting your life at risk on my behalf,' the stranger said. 'That was a very brave thing to do. Braver than me, all I had to do was stick my arms out. I'm the Doctor, by the way.'

'Mrs Harker,' I said, but then a devilish impulse overtook me and I added, 'but you can call me Mina.'

'Mina,' he said, rolling the name around as a connoisseur might a fine wine. 'Mina. MINA! What a wonderful name. Are you staying in town? Splendid. Then perhaps you would allow me to escort you home?'

'I would be honoured, Doctor,' I said, taking his arm.

'Incidentally,' the Doctor said as we left the churchyard, 'I very much like your scarf.'

We chatted as we made our way back, but discussed nothing of consequence. I suppose I should have been uncomfortable, alone in the presence of a strange man, but there was something about the Doctor's presence that made me totally relaxed in his company. He bade me goodnight at the door to my lodgings and then disappeared into the distance.

I retired as soon as I got inside, despite Mrs Hibbard's insistence that she should make me some supper, and have stayed awake just long enough to write this entry in my diary. Tomorrow I am resolved that I shall seek out the Doctor again.

* * *

**From the letters of Inspector Thomas Lovegrove to his sister**

21st November

It was ten minutes after the clock had chimed eight that I descended to the common room of the public house. The Doctor was already sitting at one of the tables and he waved cheerily at me. Once I had sat down opposite him, he pushed a plate across to me.

'I took the liberty of ordering you breakfast,' he explained.

'Have you already eaten?' I asked as I tucked in, my hunger arming me against the horror that is the landlord's cooking.

'Sorry?' the Doctor said and I repeated my question. 'Eaten? Yes, if you like.'

The strange man drifted off into his own thoughts while he waited for me to finish my meal. He fidgeted constantly. It was as if the man was unable to keep still for any length of time. He seems to be one of these people who feel that a moment when they are doing nothing is a moment wasted. When you get to my age you appreciate the value of taking your time, but the young seem to lack this sensibility.

As soon as I had finished, the Doctor was on his feet. 

'Are you up for a little stroll, Inspector?' he asked.

'Where to?' I wanted to know.

'To see the Percivals, of course.' He looked at me with that same sort of incredulity that Simon shows when he says something that to his child-logic is obvious, but which completely baffles me. 'I would have thought that would have been your first port of call.'

I did intend to go and see the Percivals this morning, if only to offer my condolences, but I had not intended to leave until later. I am not, as you know, a morning person. However, the last thing I needed was for the Doctor to visit the house on the hill by himself, which he was sure to do if I refused to accompany him.

'Very well, Doctor,' I said, thinking regretfully of my lost time in bed. 'Just let me fetch my hat and coat.'

The sky outside was grey and the morning was chill. I was forced to wrap my coat and scarf close about me.

'There's a storm coming,' the Doctor murmured. It was the only indication that he even noticed the elements.

* * *

The storm broke before we could reach the house. The heavens opened and the rain fell in sheets, thundering on to the ground and bouncing back up as if trying to return from whence it came. I had me hat and overcoat to protect me, but the Doctor was exposed to the storm's fury, his long hair plastered to his scalp. He did not seem to object, however. Instead he was laughing and jumping about in time to the thunderclaps as if he were a small boy in the schoolyard. A flash of lightning connected the sky to the sea and the Doctor stopped to point out towards the horizon.

'Did you see that?' he cried delightedly.

I muttered something under my breath and continued walking.

By the time we reached the Percival residence we were both soaked to the skin. The house was up on the hill beyond the abbey and there was a long drive running from the gates to the front door. I was prepared to enter via the tradesman's entrance, perhaps taking the opportunity to confer with the staff before speaking to the lady of the house, but the Doctor marched straight to the front door and rapped loudly.

A world-weary butler opened the door to us. It is my experience that all butlers appear world-weary. Perhaps it is the nature of the job that makes them so, or perhaps it is one of the qualifications for becoming a butler in the first place.

'Can I help you, sir?' he asked with that quality of both subservience and arrogance unique to menservants everywhere.

I stepped forward before the Doctor could open his mouth and get us both into a lot of trouble.

'My name is Inspector Lovegrove,' I said. 'From London. I am here to see Mrs Emily Percival regarding the death of her husband.'

'I am not sure that the lady of the house is receiving visitors today, sir,' the butler replied. 'If you will wait here'

'I believe Mrs Percival will want to see us,' the Doctor interrupted. His eyes were closed and his voice seemed to be coming from far away.

'And who might you be, sir?' The butler clearly did not take kindly to being interrupted by a stranger.

My companion opened his eyes suddenly, turning his gaze on the butler who took an involuntary step back. 'I am the Doctor.'

'Yes, yes, of course,' the butler stammered. 'If you will come this way gentleman. You can wait in the drawing room while I go and find Mrs Percival. If that's convenient, of course.'

'Most convenient, thank you, Perkins,' said the Doctor. 'You may go now.'

Once the butler was gone it struck me that the Doctor had done his thing with names again. I was about to comment on this when I saw the Doctor casually examining the contents of the bookcase.

'Doctor,' I said, shocked, 'try to remember that we are guests.'

'We are also investigators,' he replied, then muttered, 'well, at least one of us is.'

I bridled, but the Doctor was paying no attention. Instead, he was leafing through the books.

'Look at this stuff, Inspector, it's fascinating,' the Doctor was saying. 'It seems our dear Sir Percival was quite a scientist. And given the date, a somewhat controversial one at that.'

'My husband's beliefs were his own affair.' Mrs Percival was standing in the doorway. She was small and slender, with steel-grey hair and eyes. She was dressed in an old-fashioned black dress and wore a veil. Despite her size, she was clearly a powerful woman and now I was able to understand why she had such influence over my superiors in London.

'Be that as it may, Mrs Percival,' the Doctor said, still casually holding a book and seemingly unfazed by her sudden appearance, 'you will agree that there are many who would have disagreed with your husband's views.'

'I don't see why I should agree with anything you say, young man,' Mrs Percival retorted.

The Doctor slammed his fist down on the reading table. 'Because we are trying to investigate your husband's death.'

'I would appreciate it if you would not take that tone of voice with me, sir.' Mrs Percival whirled past, snatching the book from the Doctor and replacing it on the shelf.

'And I would appreciate it if you would co-operate,' the Doctor snapped back, not giving an inch in front of the woman. I had to admire him for that. 'You sent for us. You clearly believe your husband's death was suspicious. Therefore, you must admit that his beliefs could give someone a motive for his murder!'

'M-murder.' Mrs Percival stumbled and the Doctor helped her to the armchair.

He crouched down beside her. 'There are three possible explanations for Sir Rupert's death. One, he lost his way and fell from the path.'

'Nonsense,' Mrs Percival said. 'My husband knew the area like the back of his hand.'

'Two, he took his own life.'

'Why on earth would he do that?' Mrs Percival demanded. 'Rupert was happy here.'

'Which leaves three,' the Doctor continued. 'Someone pushed him over the edge. By the way, I'm sorry for dripping on your carpet.'

There was silence for a moment as both Mrs Percival and myself digested the import of the Doctor's words. The silence was broken by the sound of feet coming down the staircase.

'Mother,' said a voice, 'who are these people?'

'I'm the Doctor and this is my friend Inspector Lovegrove,' the Doctor supplied. 'And you are?'

'My daughter, Constance,' the elder Percival supplied.

'Charmed,' the Doctor said. The Doctor took her hand and she looked up into his eyes. When I was younger, girls used to look at me in the same way. I coughed to break the moment.

'I expect you're here about father's death,' she said. 'Come and sit by the fire so that you can dry out.'

I moved closer to the fire, but remained standing so as not to damage the furniture. The Doctor crouched down and began stirring the flames with a poker.

'Your mother was about to tell us if your father had any enemies,' the Doctor said. I was amazed by his frankness.

'My husband was admired and respected by everyone,' Mrs Percival said.

'Everyone?' the Doctor queried, but Mrs Percival would not change her position. 'Lucky man,' the Doctor continued. 'Do you know if he quarrelled with anyone recently, even if only in a small way. Think carefully, every little detail is important.'

'No, there was nobody,' Mrs Percival.

'Constance?' he prompted.

'She does not know of any quarrel either,' Mrs Percival insisted. I would have preferred to hear that from the girl herself, but the Doctor chose not to press the point.

'Did he have any visitors recently?' he continued. 'Say, in the last couple of days before he died.'

'No,' Mrs Percival snapped, but at the same moment her daughter said, 'Yes.'

Mrs Percival scowled. 'Yes, now I recall. There were two. The Reverend Arthur Samuels and Colonel Charles Ashforth.'

'Do you know what they discussed?' the Doctor asked.

'No,' Mrs Percival replied. 'Both my daughter and myself were in town.'

'And where might I find these two gentlemen?'

'You can find Reverend Samuels at the church, where else?' Mrs Percival answered. 'Colonel Ashforth lives in town.'

I copied the address into my notebook.

'Thank you, ladies,' the Doctor said, standing up. 'You've been most helpful and we've taken up enough of your time.'

'You will come back and tell us what you find out, won't you?' Constance asked. I was still facing the mother and saw her baleful stare directed at her daughter.

The Doctor had his back to her and merely beamed at Constance. 'Of course,' he said. 'Good day.'

* * *

The rain had stopped by the time we emerged from the house and the Doctor set a brisk pace cross-country towards the town.

'Well, that went well, didn't it?' he announced.

I grunted. 'It seems to me that the old dear called us out here on a fool's errand. She confirmed that there is no one who might have wanted him dead. She just does not want to admit her husband is gone.'

The Doctor stopped and turned on me. 'There are none so blind as those who will not see.'

He spun on his heel and set off again. 'And what of the books?' he called back.

'What books?' I called.

'What books?' The Doctor had turned to face me and was walking backwards. He was grinning widely and I got the distinct impression he was laughing at me. 'Sometimes I wonder how your species ever managed to pull itself out of the primordial slime.'

'Doctor,' I snapped, 'I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about.'

'Well of course you haven't,' the Doctor agreed, 'because you didn't look at the books!'

We were wandering through the ruins of the abbey and they were casting long dark shadows across the grass. I had to shield my eyes every time we stepped out of shadow into the sunshine. That is how I lost the Doctor.

He was already some distance ahead and, while my eyes were adjusting to the light, he must have disappeared around some of the stones. One moment he was in front of me, the next he was gone.

I started to call his name, but my voice did not carry in the wind. For some strange reason, I was uncomfortable standing alone in the ruins and I hurried forward, my walking steps turning to running ones.

Then I heard a sound behind me and I stopped. Someone was pressing something against my back.

'Stay where you are,' he said.

I turned my head to see what he was holding.

It was a shotgun.

* * *


	2. Episode Two

Episode Two

_'There's a fascination frantic_

_In a ruin that's romantic'_

The Mikado, Gilbert and Sullivan

**From the letters of Inspector Thomas Lovegrove to his sister**

I heard a sound behind me and I stopped. Someone was pressing something against my back.

'Stay where you are,' he said.

I turned my head to see what he was holding.

It was a shotgun.

'Now, who are you and what are you doing up here?' my assailant demanded.

My mouth was dry and I could not form an answer. Fortunately, help was at hand.

'Good morning. I'm the Doctor and this is my good friend Inspector Lovegrove.'

The Doctor extended a hand in greeting. My assailant turned his weapon to point at the Doctor, who took it by the barrel and shook it vigorously.

'A pleasure to meet you, Mr?'

'Colonel,' the man with the shotgun replied. He seemed completely bewildered in the Doctor's presence. I knew how he felt. 'Colonel Charles Ashforth. Retired.'

'Well, Colonel Charles Ashforth retired, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. The inspector and I were just on our way to see you.'

'We were?' I said.

'You were?' the colonel echoed.

'We were,' the Doctor confirmed. 'It would appear, my dear colonel, that you were one of the last people to see poor Sir Rupert alive.'

'I say, are you with the police?' Colonel Ashforth asked. He squinted short-sightedly at the Doctor.

'Mr Lovegrove here is an inspector come down from London,' the Doctor replied. 'I amhelping him with his enquiries.'

'Oh, good show and all that,' the Colonel said, finally lowering the shotgun. 'How do you chaps feel about returning to my cottage for a spot of luncheon and we can discuss the case.'

'It would be our pleasure.'

We set off towards the town once again, the Doctor chattering animatedly with the Colonel – who, after we had explained who we were, insisted that we call him Charlie ('Everybody else does.') – while I brought up the rear. I do not like walking near the sea, not any more. I have too many memories. Memories of long walks hand in hand on the beach. Memories of picnics on the grass in summer, having to share our repast with the seagulls. Memories of all too fleeting happiness. Caroline is dead now and I must find a way to move on. Nothing is served by burying oneself in the past, even if it is preferable to dwelling in the present.

Thoughts of Caroline kept me company all the way back to town, like a spectre sitting at my shoulder. The warmth of the colonel's cottage soon banished cold memories, however. A fire burned low in the grate and once again the Doctor stooped low to stir some life within it.

'Just a cold collation, I'm afraid,' the colonel was saying. 'The housekeeper's taken the day off to visit her sister in Leeds.'

We sat in armchairs in front of the fire, plates of cold meats in our laps. The Doctor declined the meat, however, though he did partake of a cup of tea. After the fare of my landlord, I must say that the colonel's food was excellent. The colonel, it transpired, was a veteran of two wars.

'I was just a war recruit when they packed me off to the Crimea,' he told us, 'but I distinguished myself to earn promotion. Mainly through dint of staying alive, I suspect.' He chuckled, but it was with little humour. 'Very few of my regiment made it back that year. Anyway, then they packed me off to fight the Boers. That's where I picked up this little souvenir, eh what.'

He rapped on his wooden leg.

'Let me guess,' the Doctor said, sipping his tea. 'You were savaged by a lion.'

The colonel laughed. 'Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. It was just a minor scrape, but it got infected and turned gangrenous. Had to amputate the whole blasted lot.'

'I'm sorry,' I offered weakly.

'Don't be,' the colonel insisted. 'Africa is a hellhole and I was glad to be invalided out of there to be honest. Anyway, that's when I retired and came to settle here. There's not much use for a one-legged soldier and I didn't fancy a desk job planning strategy. I want to be out there, fighting the good fight and whatnot. Still, this is a nice enough place for an old soldier to come and write his memoirs.'

The Doctor drained the last of his tea. He nodded to me to take up the conversation.

'What was your connection with Sir Rupert?' I asked.

'We met in Africa,' the colonel explained. 'The place may be a hellhole, but it offers some of the finest hunting you will ever see. And there was no better hunter on the veldt than Sir Rupert Percival.'

'Yes, I saw some of his trophies up at the house,' the Doctor said. I had missed them. I must be getting old. 

'Fine examples of man's need to kill in order to prove that he's worth something,' the Doctor continued. 'Playground bullying taken to the next level.'

I hurriedly changed the subject. 'Which of you moved to Whitby first?' I asked.

'Oh, the Percivals,' the colonel told me. 'That house has been in their family for generations.'

'So you moved here to be with Sir Rupert,' I continued.

'No, no, though I will admit it was a happy side benefit. I fell in love with Whitby from Sir Rupert's descriptions of it.'

'But the pair of you did continue to see each other regularly after you moved here.'

'Well, naturally,' the colonel replied. 'At the time, I did not know anybody else.'

'What was your opinion of Sir Rupert's scientific theories?' the Doctor interrupted.

'What theories?' the colonel asked.

The Doctor waved it away as unimportant. 'The abbey was where Sir Rupert fell to his death, wasn't it?'

Both Colonel Ashforth and I confirmed that it was.

'Hmm. And what were you doing there this morning, Colonel?'

'Well, it's rather embarrassing,' the colonel confessed.

'You can tell us, Charlie,' the Doctor assured him. 'The inspector and I can keep a secret.'

'I was looking for ghosts,' the colonel said.

'Ghosts?' I repeated.

'Yes, ghosts, inspector,' the colonel said. 'Sir Rupert had become convinced that he had seen ghosts up at the abbey. Now there is a local legend of a woman in white, but Sir Rupert was adamant he had seen a man.'

'Any particular man?' the Doctor asked.

'Well, I am afraid that you are going to find this hard to believe,' the colonel began, 'but Constance is not the only child Rupert had. Before her they had a son, Edward, but he passed away when he was just six months. Rupert was convinced that the ghost was of his son, had he still been alive today.'

'Hmm, fascinating,' the Doctor commented.

'Well, I found all of this as hard to believe as you, Inspector,' the colonel continued, 'but I agreed to help Rupert search for old times' sake. After his death, though, I've begun to wonder if there might not be more to it.'

'Quite possibly,' the Doctor announced, clapping his palms together loudly.

'Surely you don't believe all this nonsense about ghosts, Doctor?' I asked.

'Why not?' he asked. 'Buildings can absorb memories in much the same way as a human brain, though it usually takes far longer. Ghosts are simply a playback of those memories. At least that's the theory. I take it that Edward passed away in the Percival house?'

'Yes, Doctor,' the colonel affirmed.

'I thought so,' the Doctor muttered. 'Yes, the distance would be about right. But was the manifestation centred on the abbey or on poor Sir Rupert? Or was he simply hallucinating?' The Doctor took a large fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it. 'I must apologise gentleman, but I have an urgent appointment elsewhere. I shall speak to you both again later.'

With that, he hurried from the cottage.

* * *

**From the journal of Mrs Mina Harker **

21st November

I was sitting in the churchyard once again, with my diary open in my lap. I was trying to paint with words an accurate description of my surroundings, the cruel beauty I could see before me, but in reality I was watching the passers-by and hoping that I might spot the Doctor amongst them. What is it about him that fascinates me so? Perhaps it is that he reminds me of another doctor I knew, so long ago that it seems as if another life.

But there is something of dear Jonathan in him as well. Something about his casual elegance and in that earnestness that accompanies every action, no matter how small or inconsequential it might at first appear. There is something unique about him, as well, something strange and wonderful and mysterious, like the landscape about me. He seems so open and yet he has hidden depths. I have not felt as alive as I do in his company for a long time. Since I last saw Jonathan and our beautiful Quincey.

Thoughts of my darling boy, lost to me, filled my eyes and it was thus that I did not recognise the figure climbing the steps from the town until he sat down next to me.

'Here,' the Doctor said, offering me a handkerchief, 'take this. What is it? What's the matter?'

'It's this place,' I confessed, drying my eyes. 'It brings back painful memories.'

'Then why do you come here if it causes you pain?' the Doctor asked.

'Because I have many happy memories of this place as well,' I replied. 'Memories of time spent with friends and loved ones. If I let the unhappiness frighten me away then I would lose all of that joy as well.'

The Doctor looked uncomfortable, like one of my pupils when I caught them drawing on the blackboard in the old school room.

'I always felt painful memories were best buried,' he admitted.

'Our memories make us who we are,' I told him, 'whether we like them or not.'

'Yes!' He suddenly shouted and bounced to his feet. 'That's what I've been looking for.' He sat back down. 'Recently I went through awell, I suppose you would call it a trauma. I lost my memories for a time and now that I've got them back I don't know if they're the ones I had before. And if they have changed, does that mean that I'm not the man I was? I need to know, you see, in order to figure out who I am.'

'Well, in that case,' I began, 'I suppose that you can only judge yourself by what you do in the present and let the past look after itself. Is that what you wanted to hear?'

He was nodding vigorously.

'In that case, I am the Doctor.' The last was almost a shout of defiance to the heavens. 'I was just going to visit the Reverend Samuels. Would you care to come?'

* * *

I had seen the reverend Arthur Samuels about the churchyard, but I had never spoken to the man. In his austere black garb he always seemed unapproachable. I could well imagine him standing in the pulpit ranting about fire and damnation and the wages of sin. I found it difficult to believe that the same man would preach compassion and forgiveness and love. I remembered a similar priest in London. He would preach about original sin and the evil in us all and the horrors that awaited us. Not once did his sermons speak of the very Christian values of forgiveness and redemption. His speeches frightened Quincey and Jonathan and I had found another church to which to take our son.

The reverend was up in the pulpit of the church rehearsing this week's sermon. With his high forehead and hooked nose he had the appearance of a bird of prey or of one of those Pilgrim Fathers who sailed to the New World. As I had suspected, the priest's message was one of warning.

'"God resists the proud, but shows favour to the humble. Humble yourselves, then, under God's mighty hand, so that he will lift you up in his own good time. Be alert, be on the watch! Your enemy, the devil, roams round like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour. Be firm in your faith and resist him, because you know that your fellow believers in all the world are going through the same kinds of sufferings."'

I shivered. Reverend Samuels was a powerful preacher and his words echoed long after he had finished speaking. The oppressive tone of the text weighed down upon me. The Doctor, however, was lounging casually in one of the pews. I half expected him to put his feet up on the bench and was grateful when he did not.

'An interesting passage,' he said. 'I particularly liked the delivery, but I believe the text goes on:

'"But after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grave, who calls you to share his eternal glory in union with Christ, will himself perfect you and give you firmness, strength, and a sure foundation."

'Peter. Chapter Five. Rather optimistic, wouldn't you agree?'

'And who might you be,' the reverend demanded, 'and what do you mean by barging in here unannounced?'

'Oh, I'm the Doctor and this is my friend Mrs Harker,' the Doctor answered. 'As I was saying, don't you think a little encouragement might be more useful in getting you message across rather than all this pain and suffering.'

'I find the stick to be more productive than the carrot, Doctor,' Reverend Samuels said as he descended from the pulpit.

'Aha, a behaviourist,' the Doctor pronounced. 'You must have much to discuss with the late Sir Rupert Percival. I believe animal behaviour was one of his areas of interest.'

'Do not speak to me of that heathen,' Reverend Samuels demanded.

'Unfortunately, that's what I'm here for,' the Doctor replied. 'You were one of the last people to see him alive.'

'So I am told,' Reverend Samuels agreed.

'Do you mind telling me what you discussed?' the Doctor asked.

'Yes, as a matter of fact I do!'

'Then let me guess.' The Doctor held a hand to his forehead in a theatrical gesture. 'Could it possibly have been Darwin?'

Samuels already had a very pale complexion, but I fancy he became whiter on hearing the Doctor's words.

'Yes, I thought so. I've seen his library, you see, so it comes as no surprise that Sir Rupert would be a supporter of Mr Darwin's beliefs.'

'Blasphemous lies,' Samuels spat. 'The very idea that man might be descended from beastswhy, it's obscene.'

'Yes, I can see why you would think that. You clearly have very strong views on the subject. Strong enough to kill perhaps?'

'How dare you!' Reverend Samuels shout made me step back. The Doctor, too who it was addressed did not flinch. 

'You haven't answered my question,' he said.

Samuels fought to control his temper. 'Sir Rupert committed suicide. Further evidence of his heretical leanings.'

'Hmm, interesting,' the Doctor commented. 'I have a police inspector who thinks that it was an accident, a widow convinced it was murder, and now a vicar preaching suicide. You can't all be right.'

The Doctor and Reverend Samuels continued to argue, oblivious to my presence so I decided to investigate the church. There was a figure arranging flowers by the entrance so I went over to introduce myself.

'Good morning,' I said. 'What lovely flowers.'

'Do you really think so?' the girl asked. 'I picked them myself on the walk down from the house. I'm Constance Percival, by the way.'

'Mina Harker. Sir Rupert wasyou father?' Constance nodded. 'I'm sorry.'

'Thank you,' the girl replied. There was a moment of awkward silence between us.

'Here, let me help you,' I said, taking some of the flowers from her. 'I'm surprised the vicar allows you to decorate the place. He does not seem the type who would appreciate flowers.'

Constance shrugged. 'Since father died I've been spending a lot of time here. This is one way I can feel useful.'

I was keeping an eye on the Doctor and Reverend Samuels and Constance noticed the direction of my gaze.

'What's he like?' she asked.

'Who?' I responded. For a moment I thought she was referring to the revered.

'The Doctor,' she replied. 'Is he as mysterious as he appears?'

'More so,' I replied, 'but I have only just met him.'

'He's very handsome, don't you think?' Constance eyes took on a dreamy quality and I shook my head sadly. With his childlike way of looking at the world I could never imagine the Doctor returning the poor girl's affection.

I took her hand. 'Come on,' I said. 'I'll introduce you.'

'Do you believe in ghosts, Reverend?' the Doctor was asking.

'Ghosts?' the reverend replied. 'Certainly not, Doctor.'

'But you do believe in spirits, don't you?' the Doctor persisted. 'You believe that the soul can exist without physical form.'

'That's a completely different matter,' Reverend Samuels returned.

'In what way, reverend?' Constance asked.

'It's complicated, my child,' the reverend said. There was a tenderness in him towards Constance that I had hitherto doubted that the man possessed.

'You know,' said the Doctor, 'that's usually my line.'

'Doctor,' I said, 'Constance wanted to say hello.'

'Well, hello, Constance.' The Doctor beamed. 'How are you and your mother coping?'

'We manage,' Constance replied. 'Thank you for asking.'

'Constance has been a great help to me here at the church,' Samuels interjected.

'I'm glad to hear it,' the Doctor said.

'How is your investigation progressing, Doctor?' Constance asked.

The Doctor risked a glance at Reverend Samuels. 'I'm pursuing several lines of enquiry,' he replied.

'It's getting late, Doctor,' Reverend Samuels said, 'and I really should be going.'

'Of course, reverend,' the Doctor agreed. 'Constance, would you tell your mother that I will call tomorrow. Come along, Mina.'

I turned to Constance. 'Would you like us to walk you home?' I asked.

'Actually,' the reverend said, 'I would prefer it if Constance helped me to put things in order before I leave.'

'Is there anything we can help with?' I offered though the Doctor was already waiting at the door.

'No, thank you, Mrs Harker,' the reverend replied. 'Constance and I will be quite all rightalone.'

I can take a hint, so I said my goodbyes and left with the Doctor.

Darkness was drawing in, but the Doctor's ranging stride was carrying him away from town. I struggled to catch up, holding onto my bonnet with one hand to prevent it blowing away in the growing wind.

'Where are we going?' I cried. My dress had not been designed for running in.

'I want to take another look at the abbey,' he called back. 'It does seem to be at the centre of things.'

'And we have to look at it now?' I thought of the hot meal and warm bed waiting for me back in town.

'No time like the present.' Mitigating against that, of course, was my desire not to let the Doctor out of my sight.

'Could you at least slow down?' I asked.

'Of course.' The Doctor stopped in his tracks and waited for me to catch up. 'You only had to ask.'

I bit my tongue. 'Do you think Constance will be all right?' I asked.

'Well, the good reverend does seem to care for her more than he does anyone else. Curious that, but I shouldn't think she'll come to any harm.'

'I meant walking home in the dark,' I corrected, though I had to confess that I had my doubts about Reverend Samuels. I was probably just projecting the dislike I felt to his type rather than any trait peculiar to the man himself.

'I imagine she's walked this way dozens of times before,' the Doctor assured me. 'She's probably safer than we are.'

'That's not terribly comforting,' I replied. I had to shout to make myself heard over the mounting wind.

'Sorry,' the Doctor called back.

'So, where are you from?' I asked. The Doctor had a tendency to drift into his own thoughts so I found myself forced to drive the conversation.

'Here,' the Doctor said.

'Here?' I repeated. 'You mean Yorkshire.'

The Doctor laughed. 'No. Earth.'

'Earth?'

'Yes,' the Doctor confirmed. 'I was born here. I think. I seem to recall somewhere with a warmer climate, but I can't really remember.'

'The problem with your memories again,' I recalled.

'Yes,' the Doctor said. 'I can remember growing up with my father, but I have no memories of my mother. Do you have any idea what that feels like?' 

He seemed suddenly sad and vulnerable. He reminded me of the bird with the broken wing we had found on the step outside of school. The pupils and I had nursed it back to health and I felt the same instinct to reach out to the Doctor.

'Incidentally, I'm curious,' the Doctor said, changing the subject. 'What's wrong with your neck.'

It felt as if he had slapped me.

'I mean, I'm not saying there is anything wrong,' he continued, 'but it's just that you seem to always wear scarves or high collars and I was wondering why. I'm insatiably curious that way.'

He grinned, but I was coming over faint and his image was blurring.

The wind was whipping around us.

* * *

**From the letters of Inspector Thomas Lovegrove to his sister**

I stayed with Colonel Ashforth a while longer to build up a picture of the man who had been Sir Rupert Percival. In truth I could have stayed talking with the old man all afternoon. His stories about his campaigns were fascinating. Nonetheless, it was well passed time for me to make my presence known to the local constabulary, but not before the colonel extracted a promise from me to return and dine with him that evening. Given the quality of the food at my lodgings I did not spend long making up my mind.

The officer at the local police station could not add anything to what I had already discovered for myself. I leafed through his report, but it merely confirmed my own suspicions. Sir Rupert had been a well-respected outgoing man until fairly recently. This change in his character appeared to coincide with his sightings of his 'son' as reported by Colonel Ashforth. It is my belief that Sir Rupert was suffering from a kind of brain fever that was causing him to hallucinate. Tomorrow I shall visit the nearby lunatic asylum to confirm my suspicions with the doctors there. In the dark, and under the influence of these hallucinations, Sir Rupert strayed from the path and fell to his unfortunate demise.

All this talk of suicide and murder is utter nonsense. The widow cannot bring herself to admit that her husband is gone and so ascribes dark motives to everything and the Doctor is simply the victim of an overactive imagination. He seems a very excitable sort of fellow. I shall stay here one more day for appearances' sake and then I shall return to London and make my report. Perhaps then I will be able to find the time to call upon Simon and yourself.

I spoke briefly with the coroner – also the local doctor, one Doctor Penrose – but he had nothing new to impart. Cause of death: falling from a great height. I can hear the Doctor now, 'But was it the shock of falling that killed him, Inspector, or the impact when he hit the ground,' to which I would reply, 'Whatever does it matter, Doctor. He's still dead.' That man sees mysteries everywhere. Take those dratted books, for example. He never did explain what he found so fascinating.

I wandered down to the harbour, partly for the exercise and partly to interview the fishermen as potential witnesses. None of them had seen anything, though they were quick to tell me what a good person Sir Rupert had been. Always there with a kind word, he had apparently been known to take a drink with them down at the local pub. Though only the one mind. I did not ask if he ever tried the food. I would not wish that even on an aristocrat.

The sun was sinking and I turned back towards the town. There is a set of shallow steps that curve up to the church from the town. At the top of the steps, silhouetted against the darkening sky, I could see two figures. They appeared to be arguing. Then the man struck the woman and she turned and ran off in the direction of the abbey. I considered going after her, but I was too far away and would never catch her. The man stood as still as stone for a minute or two as I watched, then began to descend the steps.

When he reached the bottom I considered confronting him about the altercation I had witnessed, but a sharp look from his cold grey eyes made me think twice. Then he was gone, his black cloak trailing in his wake. This could only be the Reverend Samuels.

The clock chimed five and I hurried to keep my appointment with Colonel Ashforth. His housekeeper had returned from Leeds and was preparing our supper in the kitchen while the colonel and I shared a glass of sherry in front of the fire. I told the colonel about the figures I had seen and asked him if he knew who the woman might be.

'Haven't the faintest idea, Inspector,' the colonel confessed. 'To be honest, it could be any number of people. The reverend has a tendency to put most people's noses out of joint, if you know what I mean.'

I resolved to interview Reverend Samuels in the morning, if only so I could threaten him with the power of the law. Not that I believed it would do any good, not if the state of the constabulary I had seen were any indication, but it would be immensely satisfying.

We were interrupted by a banging and we both rose to investigate. 

A window had been left open and the gale raging outside was banging it open and closed.

'I could have sworn I told that woman to close all of the windows,' the colonel complained, leaning out of the opening to grasp the swinging pane and draw it in, 'but she does insist that I need fresh air in this place.'

That was when I saw the reflection. The face of a British soldier stared back at me out of the windowpane. I whirled around and staggered backwards. My knees were giving way beneath me and I had to support myself on the windowsill behind me. There were a half-dozen British soldiers in the room with us, but they were not dressed in traditional British red. Instead, their clothes were a strange blue-white colour, as was their skin and hair. And I could see through them to the outlines of the table and chairs beyond. I refused to believe it. Ghosts do not exist.

The colonel had turned as well and his jaw was slack and open.

'Tommy?' he breathed.

* * *

**From the journal of Mrs Mina Harker **

I was on my knees in the damp grass. The recent rain had brought out its odour and it was this I focussed on first as I came to my senses. Its freshness combined with the salt of sea spray that filled the air. I raised my head slowly and saw the Doctor, arms spread wide, head tilted back, laughing in the centre of the maelstrom.

'Mina,' he shouted over to me, 'isn't this incredible? I think we're witnessing a fully-fledged paranormal manifestation.'

I did not understand his words, but was still too disorientated to form a question.

There was a shape forming on the grass in the shadow of one of the crumbling abbey walls. It glowed a curious ghostly blue, the colour of lightning out at sea.

'Oh dear.' The Doctor's voice was soft, but it carried clearly despite the howling wind.

The form was resolving itself into the shape of a little girl. She had long straight hair and a round face with a button nose. She was wearing a sleeveless dress that stopped at her knees. Her bare feet hardly seemed to touch the ground as she skipped across the grass towards the Doctor. He fell to his knees and scooped the child up in his arms, holding her tight as if he feared she would run away. He stroked her hair with one hand and I glimpsed a tear rolling down his cheek.

The girl wriggled and, somehow, was suddenly free of his grasp. She went skipping away through the ruins and the Doctor hurried in pursuit. I scrambled to my feet in an effort to follow, but I was still unsteady after fainting. I half ran, half crawled across the grass in the direction they had vanished in. I rushed past the stones, shouting the Doctors name. The wind tore my bonnet from my head and it bounced across the ground away from me, but I paid it no heed.

Then I saw her, silhouetted in the moonlight, standing on the cliffs' edge, beckoning the Doctor. He was walking slowly, almost drunkenly in her direction. It reminded me of that one time I had caught Jonathan sleep-walking. Then I realised that this was the same place that Sir Rupert had met his end.

I ran forward, now with renewed vigour, but my footing betrayed me and I sprawled across the damp grass. I glanced up, my arms reaching out in a feeble attempt to reach my friend.

'No!' I screamed.

The Doctor did not hear me. I could only watch as he stepped over the edge and disappeared from my sight.

* * *


	3. Episode Three

Episode Three

_'Merely corroborative detail, intended to give artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.'_

The Mikado, Gilbert and Sullivan

**From the journal of Mrs Mina Harker **

I saw her, silhouetted in the moonlight, standing on the cliffs' edge, beckoning the Doctor. He was walking slowly, almost drunkenly in her direction. It reminded me of that one time I had caught Jonathan sleep-walking. Then I realised that this was the same place that Sir Rupert had met his end.

I ran forward, now with renewed vigour, but my footing betrayed me and I sprawled across the damp grass. I glanced up, my arms reaching out in a feeble attempt to reach my friend.

'No!' I screamed.

The Doctor did not hear me. I could only watch as he stepped over the edge and disappeared from my sight.

* * *

**From the letters of Inspector Thomas Lovegrove to his sister**

Once the soldiers had vanished, assuming they were ever there at all and not a figment of my imagination spurred on by the Doctor's ravings and the colonel's sherry, I helped Colonel Ashforth back to his chair. He was clearly more distressed by the whole business than I was, his skin being so pale as to be almost white and his whole body shook. No longer was he the veteran of two major wars. There was not enough spirit left in the man to stand up to a kitten.

I rooted about in his cabinets until I found the brandy. Then I poured us both very large glasses.

'Who were they?' I asked after I had taken a gulp.

The colonel stared fixedly forward and did not answer.

'You said "Tommy" earlier on,' I persisted. 'Did you recognise them.'

'Tommy? Yes, yesTommy Brewster,' he said. He did not turn to look at me. It was as if he were addressing the empty air. Or maybe he was addressing his ghosts. 'We fought together in the war, you see.'

I nodded, then realised that he could not see me so I prompted him to continue instead.

'Don't you see, man,' the colonel said, 'they were my old unit. All dead, every one. And now they've come back to claim me because I lived while they died!'

* * *

**From the journal of Mrs Mina Harker **

Dawn broke so slowly that the change was not really noticeable. At one point it was night. At another, morning. When the one became the other remained a mystery. There was mist in the air this morning and I could only make out the pier and the lighthouse as vague shadows in the distance.

A seagull settled itself on the sand beside me. He wriggled about trying to get comfortable and flapped his wings pompously. I wished I had some food for him, but my own stomach was growling in sympathy. I would have to start for the town soon, anyway, to fetch help.

'How long have I been asleep?'

I turned as soon as I heard that soft lilting voice of his. The Doctor stood in the doorway of the hut. He was smiling, but he was leaning on the doorjamb, still unsteady on his feet. His cravat was untied and his shirt collar open. His green jacket was draped over one arm.

Before I realised what I was doing I was on my feet, embracing him. Slowly, I released him. I must compose myself, I thought, I was acting like a lovesick girl. I was reminded of Constance's dreamy eyes in the church.

'You've been unconscious all night,' I told him. 'When you fell and struck your head on the rocks I didn't know what to do. It was too dark for me to find my way to town on my own. I was going to go this morning, but'

'But I'm all right now.' He took a few steps forward, then stopped and put his hand to his head. 'Hmm, maybe all right is a bit strong. I'm still a bit woozy.' He turned to the seagull. 'Mind if I join you, old chap.' Then he settled himself down on the sand.

After a moment, I sat down next to him. We sat in silence, watching the waves roll up on the beach. It was calming. There was so much I wanted to ask him about last night, but when I turned and opened my mouth he put a finger to my lips. I understood. There would be plenty of time today to solve our problems, but little enough time to rest. This brief moment of tranquillity should be treasured.

'Who's your friend?' he asked after a while. I followed the line of his finger. The old woman was walking slowly up the beach towards her hut. Her arms were full of the driftwood she had been collecting for the fire. 

Without waiting for an answer, the Doctor sprang to his feet and hurried over to help her with her burden. By the time the two of them reached the hut they were chatting to each other as if they were old friends.

I knew very little about the old woman. I had met her for the first time the night before. She had been the first to find the Doctor's body. When I had seen her crouched over him as I scrambled down to the beach, I had at first assumed the worst, but she had quickly set my fears to rest and we had both carried him into the hut and set him down upon the bed. I had wanted to head straight into town that night to get help, but she had advised against it. With hindsight, she had been right. In the dark I would easily have become lost amid the unfamiliar terrain and would have been of no use to anybody carried away by the tide.

She had some soup warming over a fire, a thin broth though it seemed to contain some meat, probably fish. It had little flavour, but I was grateful for whatever she could spare me. The old woman took up watch over the Doctor's sleeping form, like a mother watching over her baby, while I drifted into a fitful sleep. When I awoke, she had been absent.

I followed the two companions into the hut and watched as the Doctor lit a fire to keep away the chill. The smoke drifted away through a hole in the roof.

'This charming young woman,' he said to me, 'has been telling me a ghost story. Perhaps you would care to share it with my friend Mina, madam?'

I sat on a stool by the fire and listened to the woman's tale. She told of a ship, _The Demeter_ sailing back from the cost of Finland. Her captain was a hard and miserly man. He knew he had to sail that night or lose the handsome bonus he was being paid for prompt delivery of his cargo, so despite the weather and the protests of his crew, _The Demeter_ took to the sea on that cold February evening. The sky was a deep grey, mottled by blue-white flashes of lightning, the sea was an inky black. The rain lashed down on the deck and the wind howled its curse upon the captain and his loyal crew. But still they sailed on.

In spite of the rain, the captain's daughter, a beautiful young girl named Miranda, insisted on staying above deck. Miranda had the features of an angel and a heart full of kindness to match. It was only her influence that tempered some of her father's darker excesses. She always travelled on her father's voyages since her mother had died when she was very young and there was only the captain to look after her. But there was a man in England, a tailor's apprentice by the name of Chadwick. He had meant the girl when she had come ashore at their last port and in their short time together they had professed their love. He had sworn to marry her when she returned to England and free her from the tyranny of her cruel and heartless father.

_The Demeter_ never returned, not in one piece at least. The storm had apparently been too much for the ship's crew and in the battle of man against nature, nature had inevitably triumphed. The ship had been thrown upon the rocks not far from here. It is said the Miranda was still standing at the prow as the ship struck, her arms open wide to embrace her destiny.

Bells were heard out at sea for days afterward, mourning _The Demeter's_ passing. Young Chadwick heard these bells and hurried from his place of work to learn what had become of his love. When he discovered that she had been lost at sea, despair took him and he hurled himself from the cliffs so that he might join his love in the final embrace of death.

'And some nights, when the moon is full,' the old woman continued, 'you can see the two of them strolling up the beach arm in arm. But they won't notice you, mind. Those two only have eyes for each other.'

'You see,' the Doctor pronounced, 'there have been ghost sightings here for who knows how long. I think the abbey acts as a focus for them.'

'Doctor,' I cautioned, 'these are just stories.'

'No,' he said firmly. 'We've both seen them, Mina. You can't deny the evidence of your own eyes.'

'It was dark, there was a storm,' I began. 'Perhaps the lightning played tricks on our eyes?'

'Perhaps,' the Doctor admitted, though I could tell he was not conceding the issue, 'but you and I both know that there's more to the world than conventional wisdom would have you believe. This planet stands on the verge of great scientific enlightenment, but at the expense of its spiritual heart. Religion becomes replaced by Rationalism. But that's not the whole answer, is it? You've seen it, haven't you Mina? The hidden secret that lurks just beyond the bounds of reason. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Why do you think Shakespeare wrote that, hmm? Because it's a nice dramatic line for a play? Undoubtedly. But also because he had a glimpse of the true wonder of the universe. There really are more wonders out there than any of us can guess at so why be so quick to dismiss this one? To steal from the bard, there's magic in the web of it. Can someone who has seen what you've seen really turn a blind eye?'

I listened to the Doctor's words with one ear, but part of my mind turned inward, back to the patterns of memory. On one level, the Doctor's speech was about what had occurred last night, but on another it touched on the events of ten years ago. He was right, I had seen things both strange and wondrous, things science could not explain. Yes, I did know such things were real, however much I might want to deny my recollections.

'I suppose you will want to visit the abbey again,' I said.

'No, not the abbey,' the old woman interrupted.

'Not the abbey?' the Doctor asked. 'Then where?'

'There are caves in the cliffs beneath it,' she continued. 'That's where I've seen Miranda and her lover late at night.'

'Well, Mina,' the Doctor said to me, 'are you up for a spot of pot-holing?'

* * *

I never actually entered the caves. Nor did the Doctor then. That came later.

They were two dark gashes in the rock, like giant nostrils. It was impossible to see how deep into the earth they went, they swallowed light so effectively. There was something eerie about them. The caves were located in a sheltered cove so that even the air about us was still.

'Wait here,' the Doctor said. He would not have needed to say it. I had no intention of going any closer than I had to. Cautiously, he crept forward.

I said that the cove was sheltered, but a wind was picking up from somewhere. There was a tension in the air, the sort one feels just prior to a storm. And there she was, the girl from the abbey, beckoning the Doctor as before.

He took a couple of halting steps forward. Then he stopped.

'No,' he snarled through gritted teeth, 'I deny you. You are not real. You are a figment of my imagination. A creature given form by this place. You. Do. Not. Exist!'

By this point the Doctor was hunched over, his palms against his temples, his voice cracked and breaking. For a moment I thought it would all prove too much for him, but then the spirit, or whatever it was, faded into nothingness. 

The Doctor staggered over to a rock pool and began splashing water on to his face. He shook out his mane of hair like a dog. He continued staring at his reflection in the water, but gesticulated at me with his index finger.

'I never want to go through that again,' he said. 'At least now we know where the phenomenon is centred. That means there's a chance we can do something about it.'

'Who was she, Doctor?' He did not answer so I asked again. 'Who was that girl?'

He turned and caught me in that piercing gaze of his. 'What is wrong with your neck?' he asked.

I was taken aback. I started to wave my hands in front of me as if to ward him off and I began to babble incoherently, searching for a way to dodge the question.

The Doctor simply smiled that winning smile of his. 

'We both have our secrets,' he said. 'Let's agree not to pry, shall we?'

I nodded gratefully.

'Where to now?' I asked.

'Back to town,' the Doctor said. 'I think Colonel Ashforth may be able to help us with our problem.'

* * *

**From the letters of Inspector Thomas Lovegrove to his sister**

I rose early and set off at once to see Colonel Ashforth. He had seemed to be in much better spirits when I left him the night before, but I was concerned. I remembered how weak he had seemed after seeing Tommy Brewster's ghost. Besides which, his housekeeper had promised me kippers for breakfast.

I had barely sat down at the table when there was a knock at the door. The housekeeper answered it and then came through to us.

'Begging your pardon, sirs,' she said, 'but there's a gentleman and a lady here to see you. I said that you were unavailable on account of dining, but the gentleman was most insistent.'

'Indeed I was,' the Doctor announced, coming through the door behind the housekeeper.

'Thank you, that will be all,' Colonel Ashforth dismissed her.

'Ah, Inspector Lovegrove,' what a pleasure to see you again.' The Doctor shook me vigorously by the hand. 'I don't believe you've met my friend. Mrs Mina Harker, this is Inspector Thomas Lovegrove and Colonel Charles Ashforth.'

'Charmed,' the colonel said, rising so that he might kiss her hand. 

Mrs Harker is a handsome woman, petite with skin the colour of porcelain. Her hair is black and neatly gathered in a bun. The Doctor wanted to speak to Colonel Ashforth so I spent the time making small talk with Mrs Harker, while judiciously eavesdropping on the other conversation. Mrs Harker is a schoolmistress in London so our conversation naturally gravitated towards Simon's education.

The Doctor, meanwhile, was asking the colonel if he still had any friends in the military.

'Well, I have one or two that still owe me a favour,' the colonel admitted. 'Look what is this about, man. I'm feeling decidedly unwell on account of the disturbances last night and would be grateful if you would get to the point.'

'What disturbances?' the Doctor asked.

'We were visited by the spirits of my old regiment,' the colonel admitted.

'So you've seen them to?' the Doctor said. 'You've seen the ghosts.'

'There are no ghosts,' I insisted.

'But you and the colonel' the Doctor began.

'Shared a hallucination no doubt brought on by the alcohol we had consumed earlier in the evening.'

'You know, it's true what they say,' the Doctor said to me.

'What is?' I asked.

'Denial isn't just a river in Egypt.'

'The point, Doctor,' the colonel snapped. 

'The point. Yes, of course,' the Doctor drummed his fingers on the tabletop. 'The point is that I need a rather large quantity of explosives rather quickly.'

'Explosives?'

'Yes,' the Doctor confessed. 'I rather want to blow up some caves.'

'I know that I am going to regret this, Doctor,' the colonel said, 'but why do you want to blow up some caves?'

'Mina and I have traced the ghosts there,' the Doctor explained.

'But I thought that the ghosts – if there are such things – were centred on the abbey?' I said.

The Doctor rounded on me. 'The abbey?'

'Yes,' I said, 'the ruined abbey up on the hill.'

'The abbey is immaterial,' the Doctor responded. 'It's the caves beneath it that are important. Now, Colonel, can you get your hands on enough explosives to collapse the caves.'

'Well, I do know a chap who might be able to help,' the colonel said.

'Excellent,' the Doctor responded.

'If I telegraph him right away, the explosives should arrive some time tomorrow,' the colonel continued.

'That's perfect. Get on it right away, would you.' He turned to Mrs Harker and myself. 'Now, who's up to visit the Percivals?'

* * *

**From the journal of Mrs Mina Harker **

The Doctor set a brisk pace and both the inspector and myself struggled to keep up. I tried to engage him in conversation, but the Doctor's responses were perfunctory and brief. A black mood seemed to have descended upon him and he became more melancholy and withdrawn the closer we came to the Percival House. As we passed the abbey, I thought I caught a glimmer of something amongst the ruins, but the Doctor shot an angry glance in its direction and the apparition vanished. The Doctor seemed to be sustaining himself with righteous fury now that we approached the end of the matter.

The inspector trailed along behind me, hands plunged into the pockets of his tan overcoat. The coat might have been elegantly cut once, but, because of the inspector's insistence in stuffing the pockets full of junk, the garment had lost all shape. His hat was jammed low on his head to prevent it blowing off in the breeze. There was a sadness about the Inspector. When I had spoken to him earlier he had replied with a world-weariness that was only relieved when he spoke of his boy, Simon. 

So the three of us made our way over the hill, each haunted by their past, each wrapped up in their thoughts, travelling in silence and resolved to lay their ghosts to rest once and for all.

The Percivals' manservant opened the door just enough for him to peer out and see who was calling.

'Good morning, Perkins,' the Doctor said as he pushed him out of the way and flung the door wide. He stormed across the hallway. I scurried after him, glancing up to take in the family portraits on the walls and the animal heads – trophies of Sir Rupert's time in Africa, no doubt.

The Doctor barged into the drawing room, the inspector and I at his heels. Constance looked up in shock and dropped her sewing into her lap. Emily Percival simply stared at us with exaggerated calmness.

'In polite society,' she pronounced, 'it is customary for callers to pay their respects later in the day.'

'Madam,' riposted the Doctor, 'what on earth gave you the idea that this was polite society.'

Emily Percival rose to her feet. She was physically smaller than the Doctor, but she had such a presence that she seemed to tower over him.

'How dare you say such things in my house,' she said. 'If my husband were still alive'

'But he's not, is he?' the Doctor shot back.

Mrs Percival slapped him. The sound echoed around the room and for a moment nobody dare to so much as breathe.

The Doctor rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

'I came here to investigate your husband's death,' the Doctor said, 'and I have been obstructed at every turn. Things would have been much easier for all of us had you decided to tell me the truth in the first place.'

'I have always done so,' Mrs Percival insisted. The Doctor ignored her.

'I have been given three different explanations for Sir Rupert's demise,' the Doctor persisted. 'The inspector, here, thinks it was an accident. You asked him to investigate because you suspected murder. Reverend Samuels seems convinced it was suicide. I told the reverend at the time that you couldn't all be right, but now that I come to think about it I'm beginning to believe that that may be exactly the case.'

He paused for dramatic emphasis.

'Go on, Doctor,' I prompted.

'Sir Rupert did indeed jump from the cliff, I am sure of it,' the Doctor continued, 'and that could be considered suicide. However, there was another entity that convinced him to do so. Murder, anyone? But was that entity malicious or was it merely playing on Sir Rupert's own fears and desires? Was Sir Rupert simply the victim of that age-old problem of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?'

'Perhaps you would care to explain yourself, Doctor,' Mrs Percival said, 'rather than talking in riddles.'

'Oh, I shall be happy to, Mrs Percival,' the Doctor replied. 'One of us, at least, has no problem telling things as they are. Your husband was lured to his death by a ghost!'

'A ghost?' Mrs Percival repeated. 'Don't be absurd, young man.'

'Absurd?' the Doctor said. 'No, I don't think so. A ghost there most definitely was, one of your first child, I believe.'

'Edward?' Mrs Percival said, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

'Yes, Edward,' the Doctor confirmed. 'Your husband saw him wandering among the abbey ruins.'

'But he would have told me,' Mrs Percival insisted.

'Would he?' the Doctor asked. 'Would you have believed him if he had?'

Emily Percival looked away. 'I trust that the case is now closed, then.' 

'Not quite,' the Doctor replied. 'The ghost still need to be laid to rest, but that matter is in hand even as we speak. There is one other thing that puzzles me, though.'

'And what, pray, might that be?' Mrs Percival could still not bring herself to face the Doctor.

'As Mrs Harker and myself can both testify, the apparitions seem to appear in response to high levels of emotions,' the Doctor began.

I recalled our experience at the abbey and wondered then if I had been responsible for the ghost we had seen and, thus, the Doctor's fall.

'Sir Rupert was walking through the abbey that night, not for the air,' the Doctor continued, 'nor on the off chance that he might see his son. No, he was tense and frustrated and was hoping that the walk might purge his system. What do you think could have upset him so?'

'I really haven't the faintest idea,' Mrs Percival said.

'What did your husband and Reverend Samuels argue about?' the Doctor asked.

'I've already told you, Doctor,' Mrs Percival replied, 'my daughter and I were both out of the house at the time.'

'Nonsense,' the Doctor retorted. 'If you weren't here then how did you know that the reverend had seen your husband at all. It's hardly the sort of meeting that he is going to boast about, is it?'

'Surely they were arguing about Mr Darwin's theories, Doctor?' I interjected, recalling the conversation from the church.

The Doctor shook his head. 'No, that makes no sense,' he explained. 'Sir Rupert must have known what the reverend's reaction to his beliefs would be. He hardly seems the type to crumple because he got what he expected. No, they were arguing about something else, something Sir Rupert was not prepared for. And you know what it was, don't you Mrs Percival?'

'I'm sure that I do not, Doctor,' she maintained.

'Oh, very well,' the Doctor snapped. 'I had hoped that you might want to help me solve this mystery, but it would appear I was mistaken. I shall take my enquiries elsewhere.'

'That might be best, Doctor,' Mrs Percival agreed. 'Good day.'

As we left the room, the Doctor nudged my arm.

'Did you see Constance?' he whispered.

I turned my head. Constance was retrieving her sewing. Her hands were shaking violently.

* * *

The Doctor sat on the end of the East Pier, his feet dangling above the grey waters of the sea. I recalled how the band used to play on this pier when I walked here with dear Lucy, but there is no call for a band at this time of year. I could feel the approaching winter tainting the air and I drew my coat ever more tightly around me. Part of me wanted to return to Mrs Hibbard to collect my things and then leave this awful place, but the Doctor had been right when he said that I had seen things that defied explanation. I had to see this through to the end as well.

The Doctor had sent Inspector Lovegrove back to the police station to file his report.

'Probably best to give the cause of death as accidental,' the Doctor suggested. 'I doubt that have much time for ghosts back in London.'

'I could have done all that without ever having left my desk,' the inspector complained, before stalking off. The Doctor had extracted a promise that we would all meet at Colonel Ashforth's on Friday morning to see this business through to its conclusion. Since then the Doctor had been pacing around the harbour, lost in his thoughts. I had trailed behind, like a stray puppy waiting to be fed on whatever scraps of information he cared to divulge. Perhaps I am being fanciful, but I feel that there is a bond between us now and has been ever since our conversation on the beach. We know too much about what the other hides to simply turn and walk away from them.

'The inspector tells me that you were going to a funeral,' I said.

'Yes, I am,' he said. Then he sprang to his feet and grasped me by the shoulders. 'Quickly, what date is it?'

'Why, it's the 22nd,' I replied.

He released me and turned to face the sea once again.

'The 22nd,' he murmured. 'Then I've missed it.'

'You've missed the funeral?' I asked.

'No, no, no,' he replied. 'His death. He died today, you see.'

I did not and said so, but the words seem not to sink in.

'So many lives, so many deaths,' the Doctor was saying. 'I meet so many people in my travels, but how many do I really get to know? And those I do know are shine so brightly, but so briefly, snuffed out in their prime. I live outside of time, you see, Mina. It gives me a unique perspective on lifeon lives. It is my blessing. And my curse.'

I could not follow his meaning, but the emotions were readily apparent. I reached out a hand to comfort him, but he was already striding back down the pier.

'I wish I knew what Sir Rupert was thinking before he died,' he said.

'Does it matter?' I asked.

'Probably not,' he admitted, 'but I'd like to know anyway. Curiosity has always been my downfall. We should talk to Constance. She knows what really went on. I just wish I could speak to her without her mother around.'

'We could always try the church,' I suggested. 'She told me that she's been spending a lot of time there lately.'

'Hmm, I wonder why?' the Doctor mused.

'I imagine it gives her comfort now that her father is dead,' I responded.

'Yes, that's probably it,' the Doctor agreed offhandedly. 'We'll pay her a visit this evening I think. For nowdo you know anywhere that serves a decent cup of tea?'

* * *

It always amazes me how rapidly it darkens at this time of year. Not only does night fall so much earlier, but it seems to arrive with such suddenness as well. The clock was just chiming four as we climbed the steps up to the church, but the town was already shrouded in darkness. Clouds hid the moon and the stars from view so there was precious little illumination by which to make our way. This did not seem to bother the Doctor who scrambled upwards with a giddy enthusiasm, but my progress was faltering and he had to keep doubling back to help me up.

The Doctor took my hand as we crept through the graveyard towards the church. We were doing nothing wrong, yet our movements seemed to assume a furtive air in any case. Perhaps it was the aura that pervaded the churchyard, that feeling of being in the presence of a power greater than one's own. There was light coming from the church so it seemed that we might be in luck after all.

The Doctor stepped in front of the main doors, his fingers on the large iron ring that formed the handle. He hesitated, then withdrew his hand. 

'No,' he said, 'I think something more circumspect is called for. This way.'

We crept round the side of the building, keeping low so as not to be seen through the windows. At the back of the church was the door to the song school, where the church choir rehearsed. The Doctor tried the door. It was unlocked. Softly, we hurried inside. The Doctor closed the door. We were sheltered from the wind, but I confess that it was no warmer within the church than outside it. The Doctor was leafing through a pile of music, the pages brown and frayed with age. The room was small, with a piano in one corner and cassocks and surplices for the choristers hanging in an alcove to my right. The Doctor opened the lid of the piano and ran his fingers along the keyboard, though not with force enough to raise a sound. Then he beckoned me to the room's other door.

We emerged behind the organ and at first my view of the nave was blocked off. I could hear two voices, those of Reverend Samuels and Constance Percival.

'Nothing has changed between us,' Samuels was saying.

'Everything has changed,' Constance returned. 'I can barely bring myself to look on you.'

'How can you say such things?' Samuels asked. 'I love you.'

'Love me?' Constance answered. 'You killed my father?'

'I what?' I was now able to see the figures. Constance had her back to one of the church pillars. The reverend was practically on top of her. 'Your father's death was a tragic accident. I had no hand in it, I swear.'

'That's not what the Doctor says,' Constance responded.

'The Doctor,' Samuels spat. 'Yes, he's the cause of it. That longhaired, heretical dandy. First he tries to steal you from me with his looks and now he tries to poison your mind against me. Well, it won't work. Do you hear me, Doctor, it won't work! Constance should have been mine. She will be mine!'

The reverend stooped forward and planted a kiss roughly on Constance's lips. The girl gagged.

'Let her go, Samuels!' the Doctor shouted, descending the steps from the organ.

'She loved me once,' the reverend said. There was an hysterical edge in his voice. His attention was now turned away from Constance and the girl ran into my arms. I held her tight, whispering comforting words into her ear, wishing someone would do the same for me.

'We were going to be married,' Samuels continued.

'But Sir Rupert would not hear of it,' the Doctor concluded. 'That's why you argued.'

'He said he wasn't going to give his daughter to some ignorant, blinkered parish priest,' Samuels said. 'As if he had any right to talk down to me. Following those heretical teachings, it's no wonder he ended up dead. Divine retribution.'

'Sir Rupert was the victim of a spiritual manifestation,' the Doctor corrected.

'Of course,' Samuels agreed. 'He was cut down by the avenging angels of heaven. Just as you shall be, Doctor. We could have been happy, Constance and I, but then you arrived, luring her from my side.'

'I assure you I had no intention of' the Doctor began.

'And then when that failed you resorted to poisoning her mind with these lies,' Samuels continued. 'You have offended against a minister of God's holy word and the Lord will not stand idly by. I call upon his holy wrath to smite you down!'

A wind began to pick up within the chapel. Constance and I sank to our knees.

'Samuels, stop this at once!' the Doctor shouted over the noise. 'This is not your God's power. You're simply using your pain and anger to tap into something, some energy, that's been buried beneath this town for centuries.'

'The Lord moves in mysterious ways, Doctor,' Samuels laughed.

One of the windows had started to glow with that strange blue-white light I now found so familiar. The window was a stained glass image of Saint George slaying the dragon. The dragon was coiled at the saint's feet, his spear embedded in its throat. As I watched, the saint plucked the spear out of the beast and stepped down into the nave. It raised the spear, preparing to strike down the Doctor as he had his mortal enemy.

'Goodbye, Doctor,' Samuels crowed. 'May the Lord have mercy on your soul.'

* * *


	4. Episode Four

Episode Four

_'A policeman's lot is not a happy one.'_

The Pirates of Penzance, Gilbert and Sullivan

**From the journal of Mrs Mina Harker **

One of the windows had started to glow with that strange blue-white light I now found so familiar. The window was a stained glass image of Saint George slaying the dragon. The dragon was coiled at the saint's feet, his spear embedded in its throat. As I watched, the saint plucked the spear out of the beast and stepped down into the nave. It raised the spear, preparing to strike down the Doctor as he had his mortal enemy.

'Goodbye, Doctor,' Samuels crowed. 'May the Lord have mercy on your soul.'

The Doctor jumped backwards and the spear crashed into the pew, splintering the wood.

'Now, why couldn't you be one of those insubstantial phantoms, hmm?' he asked as he scurried out of the way.

'You cannot hide, Doctor,' Samuels called out. 'The spirit will never tire.'

'Two can play at that game, Reverend,' the Doctor shouted back. He turned to face the spirit. In the song school I could hear the piano burst into life.

'This should raise a few spirits,' the Doctor quipped. Then he burst into song.

'This particularly rapid, unintelligible patter

'Isn't generally heard and if it is it doesn't matter.'

The spirit quivered, its outline wavered, but then it lunged forward again and the Doctor had barely enough time to hop out of the way.

'Okay, so you didn't like that one,' the Doctor commented. 'How about this:

'A wandering minstrel I - 

'A thing of shreds and patches.

'Of ballads, songs and snatches,

'And dreamy lullaby!

'Constance, Mina, join in!'

I did not know the words, but I could easily follow the tune being hammered out on the old piano. So, I leant my voice to his and despite the embarrassment of my nonsensical syllables, I sang loudly and with confidence as if his life depended on it because I was beginning to believe that it did. Inspired by my example, Constance too joined in, weakly at first, but with increasing vigour.

And as I watched the spirit began to lose substance. The spear dropped from his hands and vanished. Then I saw a familiar figure enter the church. It was the little girl from the abbey and the cave. As we sang, she skipped her way up the nave until she was standing in front of the apparition. I almost stopped singing, but the Doctor waved his encouragement. Whatever spell we were weaving must not be broken. The girl took the saint's hand in hers and led him back towards the window. Then, together, they passed through it and disappeared.

'Thank you William and Arthur,' the Doctor breathed as the piano music stopped.

Reverend Samuels was curled on the floor of the nave, crushed by his failure to destroy his enemy. He stretched out a hand towards Constance.

'Help me,' he croaked.

Constance ran, not towards Samuels, but to hide behind the Doctor.

'Poor man,' he said. 'His spirits thrived on negative emotions - despair, loneliness, hate. We deprived them of those so they faded away to nothing. Like his dreams.'

'What should we do with him, Doctor?' I asked.

'Leave him be. He's broken now,' the Doctor said. Then he murmured,

'My object all sublime

'I shall achieve in time- 

'To let the punishment fit the crime -

'The punishment fit the crime.'

He took Constance's hand in his and led her from the church. I followed at a discreet distance behind them.

* * *

**From the letters of Inspector Thomas Lovegrove to his sister**

Whitby

23rd November 1900

Dearest June,

I have a suspicion that this may be the last letter I shall ever write. I had a dream last night and if it portends the future than I fear I may not be long for this world. Do not grieve for me, though, for I feel in much need of rest. Just promise me that you will take care of little Simon for me after I am gone. Tell him I'll always love him.

I dined once more with Colonel Ashforth last night. We were not menaced by any more spectres. He tells me that the explosives should arrive in the morning. Perhaps then we shall finally be rid of the evil that haunts this place. I cannot help but wonder, however, if the evil is not of our own making. The Doctor speaks of our memories being given form. Does this then mean that all we are opposed to are our own inner demons? If so, then how can destroying a cliff face rid us of our fears? I feel that I shall be carrying my burden with me for a long time.

I retired to my room musing on these thoughts. I packed my bags in readiness to travel on the afternoon train once our work here is complete. Then I extinguished the candle and climbed into bed. I could not sleep. I heard the clock chime every quarter hour until finally it struck the twelve strokes of midnight. I decided that I was too warm so I rose and opened my window in the hope that the fresh air might aid my slumbers. The wind rushed into the room and the curtains billowed like sails.

I turned my back and lay down on the bed.

She was standing in the corner. She was wearing the same dress I remembered from our wedding day. Her blonde curls caressed her shoulders. I sat up and took her tiny hands in mine.

'Caroline,' I said, 'you've come back to me.'

I could feel the years rushing away and suddenly I was so much younger, that enthusiastic constable who had first fallen in love with this beautiful young woman. I remembered the joy I felt when, to my undisguised amazement, she had said yes when I suggested marriage. All the pain I had felt since her death was rushed away as we sat there and I breathed in her scent. She smelt of lilacs, just as she had on that rainy day when we first kissed. I traced her face with one hand, tenderly fearing she might crumble at my touch. Instead she pressed back against me.

We lay together on the bed until dawn.

Today my duty calls me to destroy two caves. Yesterday I had thought nothing of it. Today I have a much greater sense of what I have to lose. She was back with me, June. I held her in my arms, felt the softness of her skin. How can I let that go a second time?

I do not yet know what I shall do today, but I fear that whatever choice I make it shall be my last.

Farewell and think well of me whatever should occur.

With my fondest wishes,

Thomas

* * *

**From the journal of Mrs Mina Harker **

It was raining. It was that most perverse of rains, heavy enough to be annoying, but too light to justify the use of an umbrella. It was a depressing start to the day.

We were standing on the beach. My feet were sinking into the damp grey sand. The weather had given everything a greyish hue. The Doctor was perched on the rocks issuing instructions to the soldiers. Colonel Ashforth was standing further along the beach staring out to sea. He wanted no further part I this madness, he had said and the Doctor had not pressed him on the point. The colonel had done his part.

The soldiers had arrived on the morning train and had hired a cart to carry their boxes into town and thence down to the beach. They had been told to obey the colonel's instructions, but soon deferred to the Doctor when it became clear who was really behind this operation.

In the cold light of day it all seemed so unreal, really. On a damp November morning, with the wind blowing sea spray against the rocks and the sand getting everywhere, it was hard to believe in such fantastical things as ghosts. I had to keep referring back to my diary to convince myself I had actually lived through the events of the past few days.

As the soldiers began to descend deeper into the caves to set their charges, the Doctor scrambled down the rocks to join me. As he hopped from rock to rock I was struck once more by the image of a big child at play. It made me wonder if that was how he saw the world, through a child's eyes, with all the innocence that entailed and the black-and-white morality. There were hidden depths to him, I was sure, but perhaps at heart the Doctor was absurdly simple. He was just someone who always tried to do the right thing.

He jumped down on to the sand beside me.

'Well, we could have asked for nicer weather,' he commented.

'It seems appropriate somehow,' I observed. 'There's a sadness to it that seemsright.'

'Yes,' the Doctor said. 'Yes it does. These sorts of things should always be accompanied by a certain sense of loss. Are we doing the right thing, do you think?'

'I'm sorry?' I said. His question had caught me off guard.

'I mean' the Doctor began. 'Oh, I don't know what I mean. It just seems so wasteful, that's all. This is something unique and wondrous and strange and we're destroying it because it scares us. That can't be right, can it?'

'A man died because of it, Doctor,' I said. 'You could have been killed twice because of it. I'm not saying it's right to destroy it, but isn't it more wrong to leave it be knowing what could happen. It's like, oh, I don't know, a rabid dog. It can't help itself so you can't hold it responsible for its actions, but if you don't do something about it – if you don't kill it – consider the harm it would do. Maybe mankind isn't ready for this thing, whatever it is and all we're doing is putting it out of harm's way.'

'True,' the Doctor agreed, 'but all its doing is responding to what is inside of us. Destroying it isn't going to make those things go away.'

I did not have an answer for that.

'By the way,' the Doctor continued, 'I've been meaning to ask you, why is it you haven't been menaced by any ghosts? You're not going to tell me it's because you don't have any bad memories.'

'No, no,' I confessed, 'I have bad memories and there are things in my past I would rather forget. I suppose, though, that I've made peace with them. Tragedies happen and that's the way it is. I cannot change anything after the event so why dwell on it. When I close my eyes I remember the joys – laughing with Lucy over the tiniest thing, marrying my Jonathan in Budapest, bouncing little Quincey upon my knee – and the tragedies sleep until I make an effort to recall them. I remember dear Jonathan telling me that the past is the past. We should not dwell on it, but look to the future. Life is for the living, it is wasted on the dead.'

'Admirable sentiments,' the Doctor said. 'Would that we could all let go of our pain so easily. Sometimes I look around and feel that everyone carries a secret burden on the heart.'

'Good day, Doctor,' called a strident voice from up the beach.

Emily Percival was walking slowly towards us, accompanied by Constance. Perkins, their manservant, was doing his best to hold an umbrella over the pair of them.

'It would seem that we owe you a debt, Doctor,' Mrs Percival said when she had reached us. 'I wanted to thank you in person for what you did for my daughter.' She waved away his protests. 'Now, no modesty, Doctor. I'm an old woman and I know better.

'So, these are the famous caves are they? The ones where your ghosts appear from? It would be pleasant to see my husband again, one last time.'

The Doctor smiled. 'A wise woman was just telling me that all one has to do is close one's eyes.'

Emily Percival turned her steely gaze on me. 'Then she is a very wise woman indeed, Doctor,' she pronounced.

'How is it coming along over there?' the Doctor shouted to the soldiers.

'Nearly finished, sir,' one of them called back.

'It might be wise to retire to a safe distance,' the Doctor suggested.

The five of us slowly strolled away from the caves. 

The sound of running made us all look up. Inspector Lovegrove was sprinting towards us. He had lost his hat and his hair was dishevelled. His coat looked as if he had slept in it.

'I won't let you take her from me,' he shouted.

The Doctor grabbed him as he ran past and forced him to stand still.

'What is it, what's the matter, man?' he demanded.

'It's Caroline,' the inspector sobbed. 'I saw her.'

'When?' the Doctor asked. 'Where?'

'Last night,' the inspector explained, his voice breaking. 'She came to my room.'

'And what of it?' the Doctor persisted.

'Don't you understand?' the inspector asked. 'SHE'S DEAD! But that thing in the caves, it brought her back to me. She doesn't have to stay dead, you see, but you want to send her back again.'

'InspectorThomas!' The Doctor shook him. 'She was just a figment of your imagination. She wasn't real! She may have looked real and felt real, but your wife is dead and she isn't coming back. I'm sorry, but that's just the way the world works. Don't you think there are people I would bring back if I could, but we can't. Callous as it sounds, we have to deal with it and move on.'

'But I saw her,' the inspector moaned. 'I touched her.'

'It wasn't her,' the Doctor insisted. 'It was just something conjured from your memories.'

'That doesn't matter!' The inspector shook violently, hurling the Doctor to the floor. Then he sprinted for the caves. 'I won't lose her again,' he called back.

'The fool,' the Doctor said, climbing to his feet and dusting himself down. 'The complete and utter fool. Stay here, all of you.' Then he raced after the inspector and disappeared into the darkness of the cave.

* * *

Hours passed. We had climbed up on to the hill and were seated amid the abbey ruins looking down at the beach. Perkins had been sent home and returned a while later carrying a basket of sandwiches which we shared around. Most of the sandwiches we left in the basket. None of us had any appetite.

One of the soldiers volunteered to go in after them, but the colonel held him back.

'We've already lost two men down there to whatever that thing is,' he said. 'I won't sacrifice any more. Either they get out of their under their own power or they don't get out at all.'

He was right, of course. None of us knew what had happened to them and it was too great a risk to keep sending down more men. That did not stop me pleading with the colonel to send somebody, however. He listened patiently before refusing all of my suggestions. I stalked angrily away from him. At first I did not realise where I was wandering. Then Mrs Percival gave a polite cough.

'If I might have a word, Mrs Harker,' she said. It was not a request. 'Perkins, would you look after Constance for me.'

We strolled slowly through the ruins, away from the others.

'I understand that you are a school mistress?' Mrs Percival said as we walked.

'Yes, madam,' I answered. I was not accustomed to dealing with her level of society and had to repress the instinct to curtsy.

'In London?'

'I have the pleasure of looking after the welfare of a small class of students there,' I replied.

'A pity,' Mrs Percival commented.

'Madam?' I did not understand her remark.

'I said that it is a pity,' Mrs Percival repeated. 'You were obviously meant for greater things.'

'I see nothing demeaning in teaching, madam,' I replied, a bit more haughtily than I had intended. I have always taken pride in my work. 'In fact, I can think of no greater calling than trying to improve the fortunes of others.'

'Quite so, quite so,' Mrs Percival agreed. 'I did not mean to make light of your profession. I merely meant that you dedicate your time to "a small group of students" when someone of your obvious intelligence should be affecting the lives of a great many more people. As I said, a pity.'

We were now out of sight of our companions.

'I believe you know the Doctor better than anyone here,' Mrs Percival said.

I considered for a moment. 'I believe that I know the Doctor as well as anyone,' I agreed, then qualified, 'which is to say that I hardly know him at all. I'm not sure that anyone can really know such a man.'

'Indeed,' Mrs Percival said. 'Still, you are the best judge of him I have available. Would you say he isa good man?'

'Well, that would depend on what you meant,' I replied. 'If you were asking about his capacity for goodness then I would say that I have never meant anyone who gave more freely of themselves. If you are asking about his quality as a man then I would have to say that he still seems to be learning what that means.'

Mrs Percival raised an eyebrow. 'A curious fellow indeed. I have seen the way my daughter looks at him, you know. I am not as blind to the ways of the world as you might think. Do you think that this Doctor might'

'No,' I answered with certainty. 'He loves her, but in the same way he loves you or I. I'm not sure he could commit himself to a single individual. I doubt he even understands the concept.'

'I thought as much.' Mrs Percival nodded sadly. 'Poor Constance. She will be heart-broken, of course. And she's suffered so much recently. Still, that is the way of things. I shall be there for her as always.'

'If there's anything I can do to help?' I offered.

'You are most kind, Mrs Harker,' she responded.

'Mina,' I said.

'Mina.' Mrs Percival nodded thoughtfully. 'Emily. Come, Mina, we must be getting back. The others will be worrying.'

* * *

Matters had not improved while we had been away. Matters were, if anything, deteriorating.

'The tide is coming in, sir,' one of the soldiers was saying to the colonel. 'It will reach the caves in less than an hour.'

'Trapping the men inside, I take it,' the colonel deduced.

'That's not the worst of it, sir,' the soldier continued. 'If the water reaches the explosives then they will be rendered useless. All our work will be wasted, sir.'

The colonel hobbled over to our group to explain the situation.

'As I see it, we have no choice,' he said. 'I hate to do it, but if the Doctor and the Inspector haven't returned by the time the tide comes in then I shall have to give the order to detonate the explosives anyway.'

'It's what he would have wanted,' I agreed. My heart sank in my chest as I realised that I was probably condemning my friend to death.

'How can you say that?' Constance demanded. 'Of course he wouldn't want to die. We can't do this.'

Emily placed a restraining hand on her daughter's shoulder. 'Come now, child,' she said, 'you know that isn't true. What is the point of all this, of all the Doctor has done for us, if we refuse to see it through to the end?'

'I know,' Constance confessed, burying her head in her mother's chest, 'it's just'

She could not complete the sentence, instead bursting into sobs which wracked her tiny frame.

'There, there, child,' Emily said as she held her daughter close.

They say that time is uniform, that one second is a constant measurement that does not vary, that each hour is the same length as the next. This is not the case. That next hour, as we stood on the hill watching the gradual approach of the sea, lasted a lifetime. I glanced across at Constance and saw her forehead creased in concern. I wondered if I looked the same. Even Emily was wringing her hands nervously.

Finally, the colonel turned to the soldiers. 'Make your final preparations,' he said.

'Very good, sir.'

The sea was now lapping at the base of the cliff.

'Everything is ready on your command, sir,' the soldier announced.

'Good job,' the colonel replied. The colonel turned to me. 'We cannot wait any longer, Mrs Harker.'

I merely nodded. I had not the strength for anything else.

The colonel turned back to the soldiers.

'On my mark,' he began.

'Wait!' Constance cried.

As one we turned and looked down at the caves. There, emerging from the cave mouth, was the Doctor. He had lost his jacket and one arm hung limply at his side.

'He's got nowhere to go,' Emily observed.

It was true, the rising tide had cut off his escape from the cave.

'Doctor!' I cried.

He glanced up at me and grinned a madman's smile. 

Then he dived into the surf.

'Now, soldier!' Colonel Ashforth shouted.

The soldiers detonated the explosives. 

There was a muffled rumble deep beneath us and we watched part of the cliff face slide away. Great chunks of rock plunged among the waves. Of the Doctor there was no sign.

We waited. The tremors subsided and the scene took on an eerie stillness. No one spoke. Not even the seagulls gave voice to their thoughts. It seemed as if the whole world held its breath. We waited.

'He's drowned, hasn't he,' Constance wailed, finally breaking the silence. 'After all that he's gone and drowned himself.'

I was inclined to agree. Then I saw something. A dark shape on the rocks.

'Wait, look,' I said, 'down there.'

'He's alive,' Constance cried jubilantly.

'Now, let's not be too hasty,' the colonel said and I had to admit that I too had my doubts.

'Well, isn't someone going to go down there and fetch him?' Emily demanded imperiously.

The colonel began to hobble downwards, but with his wooden-leg he could not gain purchase on the rocks.

'Oh, stay here the lot of you,' Emily complained. 'I'll do it.'

I watched in amazement as Emily Percival hitched up her skirts and skittered down the rocks with and agility I had not previously believed she possessed. She scrambled back upwards more slowly, supporting the Doctor with one arm.

He was alive and I rushed to him, narrowly beating Constance, and embraced him.

'My dear Mrs Percival, you are full of surprises,' the Doctor said.

'What that?' Emily said. 'You didn't think my husband trekked around Africa on his own, did you? And I sincerely hope you didn't think all of those trophies were his either.'

'The thought never crossed my mind,' the Doctor replied.

'You know,' Emily said, 'I think I'm beginning to realise what my daughter sees in you. The sooner you leave the better. And I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course.'

'Of course,' the Doctor replied. 'Um, Mina, would you mind not squeezing me so tight. You're hurting my arm.'

I released him and saw that his shirt-sleeve was covered with blood.

'What happened to you?' I asked.

'The inspector and I had a little disagreement,' the Doctor explained.

'Did he..?'

'Yes, he stayed behind,' the Doctor answered. 'It was what he wanted. Now they will never have to be apart ever again.' His voice took on a haunted quality, but then he smiled that perfect smile of his. 'Come on, I think it's time to go home.' 

As we slowly descended the hill I turned to take one last look at the abbey. There, high up in one of the windows, a woman in white was waving at me.

* * *

I went with the Doctor to his funeral. After the service we stood in the churchyard admiring the flowers. The Doctor's arm was still in a sling.

'Arthur was a great man,' the Doctor said, 'and like all great men his work will be remembered long after his death. That's what memory's for really, to remind us of the good things in life.'

I remembered going to see one of Mr Sullivan's operettas with Jonathan. He had hated it, deriding it as puerile nonsense, so naturally I had had to hate it to. Thinking back on it, however, did bring back some pleasant memories.

'Doctor,' I began, 'it has been a while since I last heard his work.'

'Hmm, now that you mention it I haven't heard any good Gilbert and Sullivan lately either,' the Doctor mused. 'I'm sure that somewhere, somewhen, someone is playing _The Mikado_. Shall we go and find out?'

He crooked his elbow and I took it. Arm in arm we left the churchyard behind.

A memory.

**FIN**

**_Mina Harker was created by Bram Stoker._**


End file.
